Cato
by Peppery
Summary: The story of Cato and the Careers, the first half told by the girl from District Four, who sees more than the ruthless killer, and the second by Cato himself.
1. Preface: Abraham's Daughter

There was only an hour left until dawn when an agonized scream echoed through the dark forest of District 7.  
"Nyx!"  
A dark-haired boy tore off shirt and wrapped it around his little sister's bleeding left arm, holding her tightly in his arms as he searched for the path home through the thick trees. The girl, only just turned seven, alternately sobbed and shrieked.  
"Sh, Nyx, shh. You'll be just fine!"  
The boy, however, had spent most of that day hacking down trees and most of that night showing his sister how to do the same and he was too tired to carry her all the way. He fell to his knees not ten feet from where the bloodstained axe lay in the dirt.  
"Sh, sh." He touched her hair, tried to find some way to calm her down but there was so much blood and when he wiped a hand across his face he found that he was crying.  
That was how they found them that morning—brother clutching his little sister, trying in vain to staunch the bleeding, sister half-conscious from blood loss.  
They barely saved her. In the outlying District all they had were home remedies and a few painkillers, a roll or two of white gauze. But they did save her, somehow, and she was never let to touch another axe. She'd never be quite as strong as the others now. Put her to work in the paper plants, they said, once she's old enough.  
Four years later her brother was executed for crimes against the Capitol. She was there when they took him. She remembered his words, at the Reaping, in front of the cameras, as his best friend mounted the stage.  
"You can't do this. You…all of you, in the Capitol! Don't you realize? This is real!" He swept his hand around the barren place, the rubble and trash and missing children. "I'm real. He's real." He pointed to his friend. "We're all real and so are the kids dying in your damn arenas! And it's all for entertainment!"  
She remembered when his eyes locked with hers as the Peacekeepers dragged him away. She remembered the clarity of his voice.  
"Show them."  
She left at midnight, into the forest. In one hand her trembling fingers clutched at a canister of gasoline. In the other was a box of matches.  
She spread the oily liquid as far and as wide through the forest as she could, never cracking a branch in the stillness of the night. She was calm, calmer than she'd ever been as she climbed high into the trees to pour the gasoline down their branches. Resting high in the fork of two evergreen branches, she paused to wander through the stars for a moment, her  
mind escaping—but only a moment. She hadn't a long while.  
With only a few hours left until dawn, she stepped away from what ended her trail through the woods, looking long at hard at the oaks and maples and tall evergreens as though memorizing them. Finally she lit one match, tiny sparks lighting the darkness as she threw it at the place where the gasoline started. Another followed, and another, until finally fire caught.  
Startling, what one spark can do. Three matches turned that forest into a wild inferno and she smiled, backing slowly away as the fire drew nearer and nearer, higher and higher.  
But that was four years ago. Those are the memories I keep at the very back of my head. The ones I try not to think about.  
I don't know why they didn't kill me. The could have cut off my head or hanged me or even called me at the reaping and I wouldn't have fought it. I suppose, however, that they chose to exhibit some of the "mercy" that brings one of twenty-four home ever year. They sent me to another District, a "safe" District where saltwater roars and tears at the shore and gets inside my head. Somewhere safe from a girl prone to mad pyrotechnics.  
I still have the scar, though the axe lies abandoned. It runs from elbow to shoulder, a mottled red color. And though it's been four years I still remember his voice.  
_ "Show them."_


	2. Nothing to Remember

_Nyx's Point of View_

Nance Loraine reaches into the glass globe, her thin dark hand like a spider in its own world, ruffling through the papers. I try to remind myself how few have my name, try to tell myself it is highly improbable I'll be chosen.  
_Only six._  
Of course it would be six, a multiple of three-my favorite number. Just because the world likes to taunt me. Six out of how many in this forsaken District? I would count the ships in the harbor but there are none today. Today is a very special day.  
Finally those fingers find a name. Nance slips it from the jar with elegance, managing not to mangle the letters with her Capitol accent.  
"Nyx Mercia."  
I don't feel surprised. Don't feel terrified, though I know that will come. All I have time to feel before I go numb is resignation. Every eye turns to me, including those of nine-year-old Rhea and her twin brother Titan, who adopted me the day I arrived. I see the distress in their eyes. In just a few steps, my sandals clacking against the baked pavement, the stage is suddenly under me. Nance smiles at me with painted lips.  
A breeze gusts over the silent crowd, carrying a scent of saltwater that churns my stomach. Nance turns toward the next glass orb, chattering happily, and snatches up a slip of paper.  
"Owen Telle."  
He's a tiny boy, hardly twelve. Excessively curly hair clings to his head, jacket hanging off his slight frame. He has gentle blue eyes that are now ablaze with…fear? Excitement? The latter would be expected from a Career, but a twelve-year-old boy?  
I have clear memories of him. Rhea is infatuated with him and is always pestering me about Owen-this, Owen-that. It was funny then, but seeing him step up makes the memories sting.  
Nance's voice echoes in my ears. I want to grab Owen's hand, to give it a reassuring squeeze, but I don't. Not with the shiny Capitol cameras watching.  
"May the odds be ever in your favor."

All is quiet, almost deathly. I sit with my knees together, hands clasped above them, staring straight ahead at the rickety doors and beige walls. The scarlet couch is worn through in some places, telling me I'm one of many to sit here.  
Titan peeks around the door, his eyes huge under his sandy hair. Rhea dashes past him, foxtail-red braid in disarray. She pushes past the Peacekeepers and tackles me with all her surprising strength. Her tears fall on my shoulder, and Titan sits down next to me.  
"They're taking both my favorite people, it's not fair!" says Rhea.  
"It'll be all just fine, my little caterpillar." I disentangle her limbs from my body and tip her chin back so she's looking at me with her spring-green eyes. "When I come back you'll be a butterfly, and Titan'll be big enough to captain a ship himself!"  
She frowns at that, hands balled into fists.  
"But what about Owen? Both of you won't come back."  
Titan shoots a glance at her, then me. A silence, cold as ice, settles over us. They're older now, and I should have realized it. Both know only one is coming back. Why do children, who should be bright and hopeful, have to face such a world? For a moment I turn my head and trace patterns in the wall, but I come back in the end. I take Rhea's right hand in my left and Titan's left in my right.  
"I'm going to do anything I can for him. Don't worry."  
The corners of Titan's face pulls down, but he doesn't say anything. He rarely does. The fire in Rhea's eyes intensifies and I'm reminded of that night four years ago. She turns to her brother.  
"Give it to her."  
Titan pulls a twine necklace out of his pocket. He holds it out to me and I see three wooden beads hanging in the center, a tree carved into the first, then a heart, and a squiggle that looks like a wave.  
"It was going to be for your birthday," he says quietly. "But it should be your token. I made it. It's lucky."  
I touch each bead, pressing my finger against the heart. Tears well in my hazel eyes and I blink them away.  
"It's beautiful," I whisper "Thank you so much, both of you. Don't get into trouble, alright?" I wait for them to nod. "I love you."  
They both hug me, Rhea burying her face in my neck, Titan looking ahead. I hold them there for a long time, holding on to the press of their bodies and the steadying rise and fall of their breathe.  
"I love you, Nyxie Pixie," Rhea chokes.  
"I love you lots," says Titan.  
"I love you always," I say, rubbing the tops of their heads.  
A fair-haired Peacekeepers steps forward and pulls them away. I gasp as their warmth  
leaves me, the warmth that has always been beside me since I came to District 4. In the mornings when I helped Rhea pick her clothes and Titan tie his shoes, the afternoons spent by the ocean, nights reading stories by candlelight during storms.  
Titan grabs Rhea's hand just before they leave, and they turn back. Rhea is sobbing, but Titan only blows me a kiss before the doors close.  
That's it. I'm alone. I'm never going to see them again.


	3. Come Away to the Water

_Annie Cresta. Nance Loraine. Isaak Elten._  
These are the names that have become almost synonymous with my survival. My mentor, my escort, and my stylist. Annie is dark-haired and wide-eyed, and I haven't heard her speak one word. Finnick Odair, Owen's mentor, spends most of his time near her side. Nance is rather popular in the Capitol, which she says will help me with sponsors. Isaak is, if possible, even stranger than Annie.  
He floats around me, inspecting me with Capitol-engineered silver eyes. Streaks of gold line his silver hair and thin black tattoos curl around his skin. He stands at an awkwardly straight angle, his arms and legs too long for his body. He doesn't seem wholly Capitol, merely brushed with its candy coating. After several minutes he sits in a dark blue armchair and gestures for me to take the matching one opposite.  
Moving carefully in my thin robe, I settle into my seat, looking around in muffled awe at the bounty of the Capitol. The room is composed of four grey-blue walls, the blue chairs we're sitting in, and a spindly mahogany table set up with two teacups, a teapot, and a bowl of sugar cubes. I start counting things off in my head as I'm prone to doing when I'm nervous. _Two teacups, nineteen sugar cubes, one spoon. Two plus nineteen plus one is twenty-two; if one is taken away it's divisible by three._ No good.  
"I'm happy to meet you, Nyx." His voice is airy, almost like he's laughing. "You're quite interesting, I haven't seen one like you from District Four before. You're not exactly beautiful, but you're nice to look at. Not thin, but curvy, not happy, but innocent."  
I'm too amused by his assessment to respond.  
"Sugar?" he asks as he pours tea into my cup.  
"Yes, please," I say, relieved as the cube count drops to twenty-one. _Twenty-one divided by three is seven._  
We sip our tea in silence for a moment until Isaak speaks abruptly.  
"That's quite an unusual necklace. I've never seen the like before. Is it from your District?"  
His noticing the necklace surprises me. "Yes, it was a gift," I say shortly. He doesn't need to know more.  
"And so the journey begins." Why does he keep dashing through topics? He takes a sip of tea, eyeing me. "I think that necklace is actually quite fitting. You're not one-sided, are you? I think you'll like your dress."  
I give him a questioning look as his attention dwindles until he's looking into his china teacup distractedly.  
He gives his head a shake, setting down the cup and leaning forward slightly. He smells  
like expensive perfume. "It's good that you're not."  
"Not what?"  
"One-sided. You'll need many sides in the arena."  
Somehow, at his simple words, in this simple room, a tumble of fear finally gets past the numbness. A crushing swell washes over me as though I'm caught in high tide. Rhea, Titan—will they be okay? Will they be okay when I'm gone? Because there are lots of things I don't know, but I know one thing for sure.  
_ I'm going to die._

***

My dress is sea foam blue with a billowing skirt that starts above my waist. I'm engulfed in rolling waves, and one shoulder strap is held in place by a starfish. An large aqua crown is perched atop my dark hair, much bigger than it needs to be. I sit on the edge of the chariot, sweeping my gaze around the room without really seeing anything.  
Owen leans against the side of the chariot, looking tiny and sad in his costume, face painted with bright scales.  
"Hey, chin up," I say, crouching next to him and tapping his forehead. "Smile. There, that's better."  
He grins a bit, a flash of light playing on his face. I wrinkle up my face and stick my nose in the air like the District 1 tributes up front and he laughs.  
"You look like a pig," he says, squishing his nose into something that looks like a snout. He snorts and I laugh as well. A red-headed girl throws us a sharp glance and Owen looks frozen, stepping closer to me.  
"Don't worry," I mutter. "I won't let them hurt you."  
_One two three four five six...eighteen nineteen...twenty-four._ Twenty-four tributes. Twenty-three will never see home again. If that's so, which will be the one who comes home to shrieks of joy, family shaking with relief, and a lifetime of nightmares?  
I look at our chariot, painted with waves. Two white horses are tethered to it, stamping in boredom. I try to entertain myself by watching them, but some inexplicable curiosity draws my eyes to the District 2 tributes. A small, fierce-looking girl with freckles and hair darker than mine whispers to a much taller boy, a sharp smile on her face. He laughs and I catch my breath.  
He sounds like wind whistling through summer-touched leaves. His gold hair is spiked up all neat and pretty, peeping through the Greek crown nestled above his ears. His chin dimples slightly under his smirk. When he looks up from the girl his eyes catch mine.  
Green. Vibrant evergreen.  
Several emotions flit across his face. First he looks bemused, catching me staring at him, but this turns to surprise and he gives me a flirty smile. Then the girl says something else and it looks like something invisible hits him hard. He glares at me and sneers.  
He volunteered, I remember. Barely seconds after they called the girl…why can't I remember their names?  
But what do their names matter? I'm going to die. I'm betting he kills me.  
It seems in no time our chariot is rolling out of the stadium behind the first three, and we are met by the cheers and shrieks of the Capitol. It makes me cringe. Owen stands near me, head  
turned just slightly away from the stands. The citizens crow and cheer, waving hands studded with diamond rings and silk gloves, calling names some have picked out of the program. It feels like I'm going backward. Everything's chaos.  
Then a spark catches all of Panem's attention, and a fire bursts to life. Suddenly everything's alight.  
_ Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire._  
They District 12 tributes hold their clasped hands in the air. Tongues of flame pave a pathway behind them, flickering in the night. They wear crowns of fire, and she is holding her head high, throwing kisses into the crowd. I have not seen Katniss Everdeen before, and this first glimpse is the most hopeful thing I've ever seen. The boy is admirably adorable, with golden curls and kind blue eyes.  
Though many tributes seem jealous of their flames, I am thankful for the shadows. I have never cared for the spotlight, and every person in the world must now be focused on the District 12 chariot. For the moment, I close my eyes and pretend everything away. Only when we jerk to a halt and Owen has to grab my arm to keep from tumbling out do I open them again.  
The gold head turns and I catch a flash of green eyes.  
Watching me.


	4. The Ruler and the Killer

Everyone is scattered through the room, vaguely defined groups forming at the separate training stations. Both tributes from District 1 and the girl from 2 are practicing with knives, and the District 2 girl hits five wooden cutouts dead center. At a station nearby, Owen fumbles with a spear, sending it racketing past a straw dummy. Moments later the boy from 2 cleanly beheads and dismembers it in a few fluid motions. I shiver and slip off towards the ropes course.  
At lunch I find myself in a corner table, away from the forced chatter, nibbling a turkey and cheese sandwich. I had wanted to sit by Owen, but he is sitting across from a dark-skinned girl his own age several tables away. Contemplating the idea of infinity and how unimportant my death will be in relation to the universe, I am quite surprised when all four Careers settle into seats at my table.  
"Uhm…hello?" I say nervously. Are they going to kill me now? I suppose the squishy-faced boy from 1 might be able to spear me with a breadstick or something.  
"You were the one on the ropes, right?" asks the girl with curly blonde hair who I think is called Sparkle or maybe Glimmer.  
"Yeah, so?"  
"So you were amazing!" says the District 2 girl snappily. "None of us are very good at climbing, we could use a squirrel like you on our side."  
I glance quickly at the green-eyed boy, angry at myself for blushing. Had they all been watching me? Hadn't they seen me get caught in my own snare or fumble with a sword?  
"Me? As in…me, me? Are you sure we're talking about the same person?"  
She snickers, punching my shoulder. For someone so small, my quickly-blooming bruise tells me she's strong. The squishy-faced boy gives me a sympathetic look, indicating a wonderfully purple section of his forearm.  
"Yes, you!" says the boy with the green eyes, loudly and impatiently, as though he wants  
nothing more than to hit me as well. "Are you in?"  
I know I'm going to die. Joining the Careers might keep me alive for a while, but once they turn on each other I'll be dead in a second. But maybe…  
"Yes, if you let my District partner in too."  
They must not realize I mean the tiny boy only a few yards away, because the girl from 2 grins.  
"Of course! This is going to be fantastic!" she says, smiling in a very disconcerting manner. "Well, I'm Clove, this is Glimmer." She gestures to the curly-haired girl. "Marvel." Squishy-face. "And Cato."  
So that's his name. I say it in my head, puzzling over the sound of it. Cato. I want to know who you are.

***

The Gamemakers are staring down at me with eyes like insects, beady and over-bright. As I am only eighth, they are still paying relative attention. The harsh lights bore into my eyes, setting me completely off-balance.  
One two three four five six seven eight nine. Just keep repeating that. One two three. Remember how to breath. Pressing my hands together to stop them from shaking, I cross to the center of the room and stand before a rack of medicine balls.  
"Close your eyes," I whisper, my voice catching. I try again, louder. "Close your eyes and count to fifty."  
They look confused but do as I ask. I wait until every eye is closed, then take a breath and bolt for the ropes course. Placing my feet between the thick black knots and weaving into the wide straps above, I quickly wend my way to one of the wooden pillars holding the straps in place. Overhead is a sturdy beam that and I can just reach the top of it if I brace myself against the pillar.  
The wood is grainy and I'm grateful, because it prevents my hands from slipping as I struggle into the air, heaving my body onto the beam. For several long seconds I'm tilted at an awkward angle until I build up my courage and push off, swinging over and onto the wood, straddling it as my calm returns.  
Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.  
Their eyes open slowly, and one shouts. He points at the place where I was and I see the light glance off his well-manicured fingernail. A look of perplexity frissons through the crowd. I smile, looking down at them so far below, and imagine this is how stars feel looking down on Earth.  
"Hello?" After a tentative pause, Seneca Crane says, "You can come out now."  
"Up here!" I shout, wiggling my fingers.  
They look up and see my head hanging over the edge of the beam. A few raise their glasses to me or wave back, and a man with a thick ginger beard starts to applaud  
After about a minute, Seneca Crane calls for me to come down. I grasp the far side of the beam and lower my feet, wiggling them as I try to find something to lower myself onto. I'm just a little too high, however, and my fingers are slipping, so I decide to take it on faith and tell myself to let go on three.  
One…two…three!  
It actually is five seconds more before I let go and land hard on my back with my legs hanging off the edge of the ropes course, blinking in surprise at the fact that I'm still alive.  
"Well, that was exciting," I mutter to myself, making my way towards the rope ladder.


	5. Lover is Childlike

All the tributes are being lined up to enter the stage. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are the last to enter the room, and under cover of their entrance Isaak pulls me aside and whispers something in my ear.  
"Just be yourself. You'll win them over in a half a second," he assures me, possibly forgetting he's said about the same thing four times already.  
He tosses me back, but I overbalance and run into Cato, stumble, start to fall. He catches me almost reflexively, and I grasp at his arms until I've found my feet properly. For a moment I stand there, not looking at him or at anything, but breathing in the scent of honey. Maybe he likes the stuff. Then he pushes me back and I stand there awkwardly, my face bright red.  
"I...s-sorry. T-tripped," I stutter, backing away into my place beside Owen, who's trembling. I bump his elbow, making him look up at me, and smile, tapping my chin. He lifts his head a little higher.  
I brush my dress into place, frowning, and slip one gold strap back onto my shoulder. The gown, aquamarine blue, hugs my body until it reaches my knees, where it blossoms into a cascade of ruffles. Anyone might see me as a mermaid in this dress, but I feel like a dryad. The strap slips again and I fiddle it back into place.  
"Stop, Nyx, it's fine," whispers Owen.  
"I feel like I'm melting," I whisper back, and then we're marching onto the stage.  
In my nervousness, I start to count things again. _One two three four five...twenty-two twenty-three twenty-four._ Times two, because there are twenty-four chairs and twenty-four tributes. I sink into the chair, which is surprisingly springy and new-feeling, so different from the couch in the District 4 Justice Center. But I can't think about that, so I shove it to the back of my head.  
As I gather myself on my chair I accidentally catch Cato's eye and he turns away quickly, almost angrily. I dig my fingers into my dress, wondering why I care. I can't stop fidgeting until Caesar Flickerman stands up and calls the audience's attention to himself.  
He is blue this year. Same white-painted face with blue eyeliner, blue lips, dark blue hair. His indigo tuxedo twinkles with the familiar light-up stars. Glimmer approaches him in her translucent gold dress, blonde curls tumbling down her back. Caesar smiles at her—no wonder, she looks like a goddess dipped in melted gold. Marvel's hilarious, bouncing jokes off the audience with ease as he thrives on their laughter. Clove, in orange tulle, is empathetic one moment, bitingly sarcastic the next.  
Then it's Cato's turn, green-eyed, tall as a pine, beautiful in a shiny silver suit and black button-up shirt. Caesar does not need to work hard in displaying his personality—Cato is self-assured, charismatic, and proud. But one question seems to strike deep, resounding long after its asking.  
"And family? Anyone at home rooting for you?"  
"You…could say that. I don't think my dad really cares what happens to me, but Mom'll be waiting. And my sister—" He stops, looking down at his hands clenched in fists. His voice has an edge. "Well, she'll be with me until the end."  
Soon after this his time is up and he returns to the seat beside Clove. The District 3 tributes seem like specters, devoid of life. The girl is pale and sickly with paper-thin hair. The boy, his dark hair in stark contrast with his fair skin, says almost nothing at all. He looks very uncomfortable all the while.  
It feels exactly like a nightmare, walking to the white velvet chair opposite Caesar, knowing everyone is watching me. I've seen so many tributes walk this path, and only seventy-three have ever survived it in full. Twenty-three times seventy-three Hunger Games is…a big number. Too big. I think of all the faces—1,703. Twenty-tree more are about to join the ranks. I hope the Capitol is proud.  
Caesar smiles as he always does, and he welcomes me and tosses out a joke that I don't really hear. His question, however, is very clear.  
"What was your first thought when they called you at the Reaping? You looked as though you'd been hit over the head."  
"I was really just surprised, I couldn't think at all." That's pretty true. "But I guess I could say… 'Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream, For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.'"  
"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow!" he exclaims. "A Psalm of Life! How poignant. May I ask, why would you think of a poem, of all things? Not that it isn't very inspirational. Oh yes, very." He smiles, and a wave of a nod runs through the crowd. I want to throw up.  
"I like poetry," I say quietly. "My mom had a book of one hundred and one famous poems that was something of a family relic. I loved it."  
"It must be ages old! That's quite unique. Now I simply have to know who your favorite poet is."  
I hesitate, because I don't want them to know, which is ridiculous. They're already taking my life, what does it matter if they know this little thing?  
"I'm in love with Edgar Allan Poe."  
"It's been so long since I've read his work. Would you mind reciting a bit?"  
"Not in the slightest." It is the most perfect thing I can imagine. I skim through my mind and come up with something sad and familiar, my very favorite poem and one I find fitting. "'I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom by the sea, And we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee.'"  
It feels as though I could curl up in the words and slip away. I don't realize how far I've come in the poem until the buzzer slices my stanza in half and I am free to escape all this attention. When I've nestled in, Cato leans forward and purposely looks my way, face framed by the lights so it looks like he's gilt in gold. He mouths the final lines.  
_ In her sepulcher there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea._


	6. Dark Days

Annie is standing in a corner of the hovercraft, muttering things. No one is listening but Finnick. He stands very near her but is very careful not to touch her. Nance is preoccupied with pretending to be busy, and Melinda, Owen's stylist, and Isaak are conversing in quiet voices by a small table. I've curled up in a ball, clutching myself together on the couch. Owen's been in a fitful sleep for most of the flight.  
I roll onto my back and look at the rounded ceiling, finding little to distract me. Numbers continue tallying up in my head; how long I've been away from home, the odds on the scoreboard in the center of the Capitol, the minutes until we arrive. That's the very thing I'm trying not to think about, but the remaining seconds tick by faster than I can count.  
I think I fall asleep, because only a moment later Isaak shakes me awake. He looks worried, so I try to smile at him, managing only a grimace. Owen's eyes are huge, and I lean over and touch his shoulder.  
"Don't worry, I'll find you."  
He nods, and then Isaak leads me off the slight ramp out of the hovercraft. Annie spares me a glance. Her eyes are glassy.  
"Good luck," she murmurs. Then the hovercraft closes and we're alone in the catacombs of the arena.  
The room we enter is empty but for two armchairs, a black table set up with a little meal, and a silver disc I will stand on to enter the arena. Isaak sits down in one chair and motions for me to take the other, which I do.  
"You be careful out there, okay? Climb a tree."  
"I'll be sure to do that," I say distractedly, touching the middle bead on my necklace.  
The smell of the food churns my stomach, and I'm sure I would be throwing up all over my shoes if there was anything in my belly. Instead, I can only curl up in the chair and clutch my stomach, eyes shut, rocking back and forth.  
When finally my uniform arrives, Isaak helps me dress. It consists of an olive green shirt, tawny pants, a belt and a heat-preserving, thigh-length black jacket. The dark brown boots are made of supple leather and Isaak claims the treads on the bottom will make running easy.  
Isaak stays in his armchair, remarkably cool. I, on the other hand, pace the cement floor, counting my footsteps. One two three. Six. Nine. Twelve. I keep going like that until a smooth female voice informs me to prepare for launch. Isaak takes my hands as I position myself the disc, straight and quaking as an aspen. When the glass tube seals around my feet, I realize that I'm about to lose everything. My home, Rhea and Titan, my life. I could die in an instant, I could be speared or stabbed or I could watch someone else die, someone who had a normal life just a week ago. We're all about to die.  
_ One two three four five six seven eight nine..._  
I'm panicking, which is the very worst thing I can do. It's worse in this tight dark space, but in a flash of a moment I'm standing in an open field and it's worst. I can't breath.  
"Ladies and gentleman, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"  
I have to breath or I'm going to die in the sixty seconds before the Games start for real. In, out, that's not so hard. It's very much easier if I ignore the weapons resting in the golden Cornucopia. After a couple of seconds, I recover enough to get a look at the arena.  
There's a satiny blue lake to my left, a home-looking forest to my right. I wonder what's behind me, but I don't look because the minute is ticking down and I have to find Owen. He isn't anywhere near me and I can't find his face…I'm forgetting how to breath again…calm down! He must be on the other side, that's not far, I can get to him. One glance tells me the other Careers aren't concerned about anything but the Cornucopia, so I'm on my own. That's okay. I can do this.  
The gong rings. I run.  
I haven't accounted for the fact that twenty-three people are about to charge at the golden horn at exactly the same moment as me. Though I've never been fit, adrenaline gets me there first, but I ignore the supplies because I can see him now.  
"Owen!" I shriek.  
He looks up and sees me, an expression of absolute relief breaking across his face. I dash across to him and hug him so tight I think I might break his ribs. We're past the tail of the Cornucopia. I already hear the screaming.  
"NYX! Nyx, look out!" His voice breaks in my ear, followed by a whistling sound. I shove him away as I realize what's about to happen.  
Something sharp and heavy slices a burning line down my back. I arch forward, pressing my hands against the wound, and twist around before my attacker can strike again. I catch a glimpse of a short blonde girl trying to get a grip on her axe. Suddenly all I can think of is Joshua crouching over me in the darkness, wrapping up my arm. But he's not, and I'm not there. I'm here…I'm supposed to be fighting…but I'm bleeding. Why am I bleeding?  
My mind wants me to stand up because there's something bad nearby, but pain clouds my thoughts and anyway I can't move. I moan. The axe glints as the girl brings it up again, but before she swings it down Owen pounces.  
Little kids can be wild. Owen tears at her face and arms, leaving bloody scratches, and the girl can't get the axe in a position to hit him. She tosses it away and it nicks my cheek as it goes by. It doesn't register. The girl twists in circles, snatching at Owen but his grip is tight. Someone has to break.  
I find my feet through sheer force of will. Teeth clenched together, cheeks wet with tears, mind thick and murky, I find the axe and hold it the way Joshua taught me.  
"Owen!" I try to shout, though it comes out quiet and strained. He hears me, though, sees the axe, and scampers away from the girl.  
Surprised at her luck, she takes several quick steps away from him and I swing—  
I let the handle go. Her cannon won't come for hours, not until the bloodbath is over. Owen looks sick but starts to tell me something. I don't hear him for a few seconds.  
"Nyx? Nyx! Okay, you go hide out, I'm going to grab stuff—"  
"NO! You're coming with me!" I grab his arm.  
"We'll die if we don't get something!"  
"The Careers—"  
"Yeah, we are, that's why we have to get good stuff before it's all gone. To win. I'll be right back!"  
He wriggles his arm free. I scream and run after him, but he's already gone. He's smaller than me and faster. A shrieking pain in my back drives me to my knees and I know I can't go after him. When he vanishes into the mouth of the Cornucopia I turn, tears in my eyes, and drag myself toward the forest.  
That night his face is in the sky.

***

"Wait, guys!" Clove throws out her arms, catching Marvel in the stomach. He gives a funny wheeze and stepped back. "Look."  
She leans forward, pointing toward a flickering light ahead of us and to the left.  
"Someone's up late," says Glimmer with scorn. "Think we should remind her when bedtime is?"  
"I want to kill them." Cato already has his sword out.  
"Doesn't matter what you want, I saw them first!" Clove sticks out her tongue.  
"Guys, guys, come on," says Marvel. "I think we all know how to share. It's more fun that way."  
Cato shakes his head, but Glimmer and Clove jump at the idea. Peeta Mellark hangs back as they slip through the trees, shifting from foot to foot, but eventually follows. I'm last in line, still hurting despite the medicine and bandages from the Cornucopia. I never check behind me because I'm not scared. We're Careers. We can't be touched.  
Marvel grabs the girl from behind and forces her into a nelson hold. Her scream rattles me and reminds me of the dried blood on my hands. Marvel laughs, kicking her knees so that she falls.  
"You can scream, but no one's coming. Who would help you?"  
"Please don't kill me!"  
Clove mutters something to Glimmer and they snicker. Glimmer nudges her forward and Clove pulls a dagger out of the collection strapped to her body. She kneels in front of the girl.  
"I'm not going to kill you," she whispers.  
"Y-you're not?"  
"No." Clove cups the girl's chin, rubbing her cheek. "No, I'm just going to hurt you. Killing isn't fun. That's boys' work. I just hurt."  
The knife flashes in and out of the girl's stomach. She screams, so loudly birds startle out of their nests. I want to join them and fly away. I can't watch this. This is torture.  
"There, that's all I'm going to do. See how nice I am?" She pats the girl's head and she tries to bite Clove's fingers. Marvel snaps her head down. "I'm so nice I'm going to let Cato finish you. He's been so patient."  
Cato grins, moving into the light of the fire. The girl's eyes widen when she sees him, probably recognizing him from training. I remember how easily a sword moved in his hands and feel her terror.  
_ Don't do it don't do it. Please, please don't do it._  
_ Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by._  
His sword passes through the fire when he thrusts it forward, through her heart and out. She doesn't have time to know she's dead. Marvel drops her and kicks her body away.  
"I didn't get to do anything," Glimmer complains, hands on her hips. "Which means I get to kill the next one!"  
Clove rolls her eyes, wiping blood off her knife. "Yeah, why not? You hit what, one dummy with that bow in training?"  
"Six! I hit six!"  
Marvel claps his hands to get their attention. "What does it matter? Check it out, twelve down and eleven to go!"  
"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," says Cato.  
We walk back to the spot where Clove first spotted the fire. The others are laughing and mimicking the girl, commending each other on a job well done. Peeta and I, we're quiet at the back.  
"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" asks Glimmer suddenly, her head tilted uncertainly.  
"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," replies Marvel. Even as out of tune as I've been with the world in the last hours, I pick up on the anxiety in their voices.  
"Unless she isn't dead," says Glimmer.  
"She's dead. I stuck her myself." Cato sounds slightly offended.  
"Then where's the cannon?" Glimmer again. "Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done."  
"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," pipes up Clove.  
"I said she's dead!" Cato shouts the words, and a rabbit scurries out from under a bush and away from us.  
"We're wasting time!" Peeta snaps. "I'll go finish her and let's move on!"  
"Go on, then, Lover Boy," says Cato, jabbing him lightly with his sword. "See for yourself."  
Peeta rolls his eyes and descends back into the darkness, a little dot of fire that is his torch marking his place. The group erupts into whispered arguments in which I cannot force myself to take place. It feels like reality is slipping away from me. I close my eyes and whisper _Annabel Lee_ to myself.  
"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" Even with my eyes closed tight, I know it's Clove's voice.  
"Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife." Glimmer, always the kinder of the two. "Besides, he's our best chance of finding her."  
"Why?" Cato scoffs. "You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?"  
"She might have," says Clove. "Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke."  
Marvel taps his chin. "Wish we knew how she got that eleven."  
"Bet you Lover Boy knows." Cato shoves his sword back into its sheath.  
Peeta returns moments later, jaw set. His spear is covered in blood.  
"Was she dead?" asks Cato.  
"No. But she is now."  
The cannon sounds, sharp and clear. I look at the sky, then remember we've already seen the death toll today. When I try to find my favorite constellations I also have to remind myself that this isn't the real sky.  
"Ready to move on?" asks Marvel.  
No. I'll never be able to forget this day.


	7. Take the Heartland

Author's Note: My favorite chapter.

Days two and three are spent hunting tributes, but we find no one. On the third night in the arena, I pull my sleeping bag close to the fire and stare into it. It's been hours since I last slept, but even though Cato's on watch I can't make myself close my eyes. Maybe it's because I know he's awake and no one else is.  
He's lying on his back, head resting on one hand, the other holding a photograph. In the darkness I can make out half-formed shapes in it, something that could be the sky. To keep myself from thinking about today, I crawl toward him to ask about the picture.  
Before I can speak, he says, "It's my sister." After a pause he adds, "Go away."  
"I don't want to," I say.  
He turns to face me sharply, all his ease and confidence gone. His eyes are hard.  
"Nyx. Go." Looking into those green eyes I notice that they curve slightly, reminiscent of storybook elves. "Go now."  
"I don't want to," I repeat.  
"Then what do you want?" He's probably bored and has decided I'm more entertaining than the photo.  
"I want…" I think for a moment. What do I want? "I want to know who you are.  
He laughs, but it's not a funny laugh. It's a bitter, angry laugh. "I'm the bad guy."  
"But why are you the bad guy?" What a stupid question. I feel like Caesar Flickerman. But still, I'm curious.  
He scoots up to sit cross-legged in the grass. I do, too, to show him I still want an answer, even though moving makes my back ache. For a bit he lets the silence extend, long enough for me to start braiding strands of grass.  
"'Cause I chose. Chose this." He nods at the ground and I take it to mean becoming a tribute. "I was going to anyway, but—" His hand curls around the photo, tighter and tighter until he's crumpled it up. His voice is tight with anger. "It was supposed to be mine."  
"I don't understand."  
"Why should you? Why should I tell you?" He glares at me and I sense the challenge in his voice. I choose my next words carefully.  
"Because I want to know."  
He snorts, then rolls to his feet and picks up his sword. I don't move, my body tight enough to snap, but he takes several steps away and swings at a tree. Then again. Again.  
"This is what my whole life has been. Every day I was working toward the Hunger Games. It's what I existed for."  
He hits the tree so hard he has to lean back to free his sword.  
"I was going to win and when I came back my dad was going to feel so stupid for telling me I wasn't anything." His technique, which was impeccable moments ago, is growing wild. "I was going to win back-to-back with my sister like Cashmere and Gloss. We were going to be the most amazing people to ever walk the face of the earth. I was going to have everything."  
I'm terrified of that sword, but it seems I can still talk.  
"Was?"  
"Only I won't!" He aims down and buries a third of the sword in the ground.  
Someone turns over in their sleep, disturbed by the volume of his voice. I glance behind me, but they're all still asleep.  
"I'm not going to have anything. When they called her name and she stood on that stage, reality hit me. She's so small. She'll die without me."  
Oh. I scoot forward. Cato is kneeling before his sword, his shoulders rising and falling, and I pick up the picture and smooth it out. A little Clove waves at me, wearing a blue dress and yellow rain boots, standing in a field that drops off to a quarry. Oh.  
"I can do a lot of things." I jump and drop the photo. I hadn't realized he'd sat back down behind me. "But letting her die isn't one."  
"I don't—"  
"She's going home. I'm not."  
His sword pokes my back. Pain shoots up and down my body and I'm too scared to move.  
"Like hell am I letting anyone get in her way." He pushes the sword farther and I swallow a yell. "There's never been anything I wanted that I couldn't have." His voice is hard, but he swings the sword away. "I'm not going to kill you, Nyx."  
"No," I say. "I didn't think you would."  
That really makes him laugh. "Yes, you did. I saw you after I killed that girl. You hate me." Contempt fills his words. "You won't say it because you think you're too good to hate anyone. You're not good, though, you're weak. I saw you kill that girl in the bloodbath."  
I feel like he's physically struck me. My eyes sting and I stare at my hands.  
"You don't—"  
"You hate me because I killed him."  
Horror rises in my throat like bile. He's looking at me hard enough to burn, watching my reaction  
"That little boy you love so much, 'cause he was stupid enough to get in my way." He shakes his head. "I'm not going to kill you, but I would in a heartbeat. If I had to."  
He sheathes his sword, walking to the other end of our camp. I stay where he left me, staring at the fire without really seeing it.  
I want to hate him. I really try for a few minutes, but then Clove mutters something in her sleep and I know I'll never be able to hate Cato. Sometime later, as watch shifts to Marvel, I realize something else.  
It wouldn't matter if I did hate him. I could never hate Cato more than he hates himself.


	8. Safe & Sound

I'm wakened by someone yelling and the crackle of fire. I open my eyes and find myself staring into an inferno. The world in front of me is burning in a uniform line and I have to scramble from my sleeping bag moments before it catches.  
"RUN!" Glimmer yells, scooping up her pack and darting away.  
Clove is ahead of her by leaps and bounds, Cato, Marvel, Peeta, then me. I'm no athlete and I can barely keep my footing on the uneven earth. My back screams in protest and tears soon coat my cheeks, from pain and smoke both.  
Suddenly the ground slips out from under me and I skid several feet until my left foot catches on a protruding root. The rest of my body tries to go forward, pulling so fiercely that I feel my ankle snap.  
I scream, choking on the smoke, as pain stabs up my leg and I fall to my knees, dragging the useless foot from under the root. I try crawling after my allies, every part of my brain shouting at me to stop, but I can't, not with fire brushing the tips of my boots. I'm too slow…I'm going to burn to death…  
I scream for help. No one will come, though, because there's only one victor and I'm useless anyway. I think of what Cato said—_I'm not going to kill you_—well, this would be the way for me to die, then. Through no fault of his own.  
That doesn't happen, though. Someone is running toward me, and then there are arms around me and I'm in the air and we're going away from the fire. But even as he runs a fireball shoots past him and another trees lights up. He swears, pushing himself faster, and someone shouts nearby. I catch a glimpse of Glimmer's tangled curls, flattening herself as another fireball whizzes past.  
It's like we're in hell for sixty long seconds as fireballs shoot at us from all sides, each one closer and faster than the other. Then they stop, all of a sudden, and the only one with anything worse than singed hair and clothes is Marvel. His forearm is angry red, covered in blisters, the sleeve of his jacket burned away.  
We spend a few hours recovering, Marvel trying weakly to treat his arm. There's nothing I can really do for my leg except wrap it in several layers of gauze and pretend that helps.  
"We should look around," says Clove hoarsely. "Find out why the Gamemakers brought us over here before it gets dark."  
No one can argue except me and my broken ankle, but I don't make any move to do so. I can imagine what Clove will do when she finds out I'm useless to her. I limp behind them, wiping away tears before anyone can see. I wish I could go numb.  
Nothing happens for hours at least. There's nothing much to do but walk, so that's what we do. Clove, Cato, and Glimmer are talking and Marvel says something every now and then that makes them laugh. Peeta doesn't say anything, which seems to be the standard for him. I'm grateful, because it makes my silence less of a cause for concern.  
It comes to a point where it feels like my whole body is going to fall to pieces. The sun is dipping toward the horizon at our backs. But this is when something rustles ahead of us and the same expression comes over all of them, except of course Peeta and me.  
"Looks like we found the surprise." Cato grins. "This is great."  
"My thanks to the Gamemakers," says Glimmer, inclining her head. "And it's my turn this time!"  
"I call it if it's Girl on Fire!" says Marvel.  
We follow the rustle into a small clearing, Cato, Clove, Marvel, and Glimmer disputing over who will kill the tribute. I count my steps, praying that we'll stop, and then Clove laughs and points at one of the larger trees. Twenty feet up is an olive-skinned girl with a long black braid. Marvel cheers, lifting his spear but quickly bringing it back down as his arm no doubt complains. Clove and Glimmer high-five, but Peeta's face is white.  
"How's everything with you?" Katniss calls brightly.  
"Well enough," says Cato in the same casual tone. "Yourself?"  
"It's been a bit warm for my taste." She smiles at her joke. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come up?"  
"Think I will."  
"Here, take this, Cato." Glimmer offers the silver bow and arrows she scavenged out of the Cornucopia. Cato shoves them away.  
"No. I'll do better with my sword."  
As soon as Cato lifts himself onto the first branch, Katniss scampers higher exactly like a squirrel. I find myself envying how easily she moves among the branches, unhindered by injury. She's better than I used to be, and she's maybe fifty feet from the ground when Cato grabs a too-thin branch and it snaps right off.  
I close my eyes when he falls to keep from laughing. Even a toddler in District 7 could have gotten higher than him. My laughter really dies when he rolls to his feet and curses so loudly and angrily that several birds take flight.  
"Nyx, you're the tree girl, you get her!" Clove says, shoving one of her knives into my hand. I pull back from the weapon.  
"I—"  
"She can't, her leg's broken," Cato snarls. "It's Glimmer's turn anyway."  
"Broken?" I don't like the look Clove gives me as she takes the knife back. "Well, that's too bad."  
I shift my weight and my ankle burns. There, now they know. I sit in the grass and try to find a not-painful angle. Glimmer scales higher than Cato until something cracks under her feet. She yells in frustration and shoots at Katniss, who is at least forty feet above her, but misses her mark entirely. After that there's nothing for her to do but come back down.  
"Oh, let her stay up there," says Peeta once Glimmer touches the ground. "It's not like she's going anywhere. Let's deal with her in the morning."  
Much later that night, when he must think I'm sleeping, Cato edges toward me and brushes a lock of hair from my face. Then he lies next to me, nudging one arm under my head as a makeshift pillow and the other around me as if to protect me.  
Only then can I fall asleep.

***

An invasive buzzing fills my dream, setting the tune as my dream-self runs away from something terrible behind her. Whatever it is chasing her never catches her, nor does she ever escape it. It's never going to end.  
My eyes flutter open. The sun is just rising, and a bird's call is what woke me. I feel Cato still beside me. His arms are no longer around me, but his back is pressed against mine. While he's asleep so close that I can hear him breathing, it's easy to pretend nothing bad ever happened.  
Then a crashing sound tears through the peaceful quiet and the tracker jackers attack.  
Peeta is on his feet in a moment, then he's running—but he glances back once, up at the tree. Clove yells and swats one of the tracker jackers, rolling onto her back and then to her feet. Cato dashes to her, snatching her arm and dragging her with him.  
"To the lake! The lake!" Clove yells, and then they're both gone, as is Marvel.  
The gold tracker jackers smother me. I stumble forward, trying clumsily to gain my feet but the pricks _hurt,_ my back moans, my ankle screams as loudly as me.  
Curly blonde hair obscures my vision as Glimmer falters past, swatting and screaming. She's aiming toward the lake, but she stumbles and falls. I can't recognize her anymore.  
I make myself run. I can't think through the pain, but the trees aren't far and I can hold myself up on them. Only when I reach for one it darts away and I fall over, my face pressing into the soft earth.  
_ This isn't so bad._ The tracker jackers have left me be, but venom pounds through my body. _It's pretty here._ My fingers find my necklace, and just touching it bears memories of Rhea's round smiling face and Titan's quiet voice.  
"Goodbye," I whisper, not knowing how I haven't thought of them before now. "Goodbye."  
"Nyx!" Cato appears, covered in water, but he sounds relieved to find me…but then he comes toward me and sees. "NYX!"  
He drops to his knees, grabbing my hand.  
"Cato?"  
"Yeah, it's me, Nyx. Yeah."  
"You came back for me?"  
"Yeah."  
"Why?"  
His grip on my hand tightens, but it's a good pain compared to the others. "Because I love you."  
"I knew it…" I whisper, and smile. He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "You were wrong. I don't hate you." My voice is way too quiet. "I love you."  
"You can't go," he says angrily. "I won't let you."  
"I'm okay," I whisper.  
He presses his forehead to mine and whispers the words of an old lullaby. I remember my mother singing the same one when she tucked me in bed.  
"Just close your eyes, the sun is going down, you'll be alright…no one can hurt you now."  
The sharp pain in my back and ankle is fading. His hand feels lighter.  
"Don't go," I say.  
"I won't. I'm not going anywhere."  
I try to tighten my fingers in his, but I'm too weak. I can barely see him anymore—only his clear green eyes.  
"Where are you…?"  
"I'm here, I'm right here." His hard voice softens. "Don't you dare go."  
"Never…" I mutter. I think a bird trills over my head and I see a flash of black and white. The bird flutters away. "Love you."  
Then everything fades.


	9. One Engine

_Cato's Point of View_

Her eyes are empty, her limp hand falling from my grasp. I knew I'd never be able to keep her.  
"Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound." The words are faint, barely distinguishable from the chattering birds.  
One cannon, then another. I can't stay here. When I rise to me feet, a bird gives the single high note warning of the hovercraft. As I'm walking away it becomes increasingly difficult to keep my footing on the tilting earth—do trees stand at that angle?  
"Run! Run!"  
Peeta's voice shatters the quiet air. I cut through the trees just in time to see a dark braid disappearing into the trees. I step forward but the ground drops down and I stumble. Peeta turns, spear gripped so tight in his hands his fingers are white. I've never hated anyone more in my entire life.  
"TRAITOR! You were helping _her!"_  
I swing my sword at his head but he ducks just in time and I stagger forward, trying to get control of my weapon.  
"You're insane!" Peeta yells, lifting his spear.  
A strangled laugh escapes me, tearing the air around us into tiny fragments that collapse at our feet in diamond bits.  
"You hadn't noticed?" I shout, and lunge again.  
He uses his spear as a shield, gripping it in both hands to push away my sword, but I'm strong enough to push him back and he misses a step, shifting the spear to keep his balance. I take one hand off my sword and rip the spear from his hands with a laugh.  
Peeta turns to run, but the tracker jacker venom is working on him too and he falls to his stomach. I stand over him, about to drive my sword into his back, when he flips over and kicks me hard enough to knock me sideways. It gives time for him to stand again, but by the then I'm ready to strike and he has no way of defending himself.  
I go for his left leg, up high were the _ vein/artery runs. It won't kill him right off, but he's as good as dead out here. A flash of silver, gush of red, and Peeta gasps in pain. The color floods out of his face, leaving him ghostly white as he looks at the wound. I draw back to cut again, but he crashes away into the forest and my brief moment of sanity is fading as the venom works into my body. I try to go after him, but my foot catches on his spear and I fall.  
I don't know how long I lay there, staring into the woods. If anyone else had found me, I would probably be dead.  
"Cato?" Clove steps into the clearing with less than her usual grace. When she sees me she grins. "Cato! I thought you were dead! Glimmer is, and there was another cannon so I thought—"  
"I'm fine. It was Nyx."  
Clove frowns, and I can tell she's weighing our options. "Well, Marvel stuck by the lake. You and I can bring our stuff down there and then we'll figure out what to do next."  
"Yeah," I say, and nothing else. I'm not fine.

***

I can't move. If I do, she'll die again. And again. The sword at her neck glints in the shallow darkness.  
"Cato!"  
The voice is Clove's, not unfamiliar in my nightmare landscape. Now, though, she's taken on a different role. She is standing in the shadows in her blue dress and yellow boots, and our father is holding a butcher knife to her throat.  
"Make your choice," he says, pressing the into her skin until blood beads against the edge. "Who do you love more?"  
I look back at Nyx's face. She doesn't look scared at all, but her glare burns.  
"You're a coward. You'd let them both die?"  
Clove whimpers, such a terrible sound to come from her that I know she has to live if it kills me.  
"I'm sorry," I say, and Nyx's gaze hardens.  
"You're a liar, and I hate you."  
That's all she says before her head rolls. Her body slumps to the ground and my sword clatters beside it, accompanying my father's crude laugh. He grabs Clove by her hair and pulls her head back, baring her throat. She shrieks and he sneers.  
"You're as foolish as you are cowardly."  
And he slits her throat. Once the knife parts her flesh he vanishes, still laughing, and I stand in the darkness alone staring at two broken children.  
The cycle repeats. Sometimes Clove is on her knees at the other end of my sword. Other times Nyx fights back. My mother even appears, screaming at me to turn the blade toward my father, our common enemy, but it moves only to kill those I love.  
Every time, he wins. I can't fight him and so I kill. And I kill. And kill.  
Then something strikes my face and my eyes fly open. When I see Clove crouched in front of me with no knife at her throat I sit up so fast we bang heads.  
"Watch it!" she snaps, getting to her feet. "All three of us have been out for way too long. Marvel, wake up!" She kicks his side and he sits up. "We're seriously out of the Games right now."  
"You're right," says Marvel shakily. "Girl on Fire got us bad." He unconsciously rubs one of his stings.  
"We are not going to talk about her right now!" says Clove, and she stamps her foot. "Right now we've got to look over our supplies and try to find out what we missed!"  
She stomps over to her backpack but despite all her audacity she's still way out of it. By the time she gets there I have to grab her arm so she doesn't fall. She jerks it away.  
"I'm fine. And so are you! Both of you, look through your stuff and see what you've got or we're all going to _die_ out here!"  
"We're not going to die, Clove," says Marvel impatiently.  
Something rustles nearby. My sword is in my hand in seconds, and I'm at the forest's edge almost as fast. Clove's eyes are bright as she hurries over silently. I part the foliage with the blade, revealing a pale, terrified face.  
"We won't die," I say, putting the tip to his chest. "But he might."  
His eyes are wide as he looks at me, but his gaze slips past and lands on Clove. She's taken out her very favorite knife, bright silver with a wicked curved blade. The sight of her seems to frighten a response out of him.  
"I c-can tell you what's been g-going on!" His voice catches, and he has to close his eyes and take a breath.  
"We can figure it out without you," says Clove, coming closer.  
He panics and tries to run, but I grab his jacket and pull him back. He's shaking badly and Marvel has to try not to laugh just looking at him.  
"I know how the Gamemakers rigged the mines around the plates! I can help you use them just don't kill me!" He says this all in one breath, his eyes screwed shut.  
"Mines? Like blowing things up?" Clove lowers her knife, face bright. "Are you serious?"  
"Y-yeah," he says, opening one eye.  
"Let him go," says Clove, and I release him. He almost falls over, he's still trembling so bad.  
"Make trouble, and you'll be dead in half a second," I say.  
"Faster, if you cross me," says Clove with a toss of her head.

***

"Ouch! Watch it, Clove!" I snap, pulling away from her.  
"Don't be such a baby," she says, rubbing more medicine over a sting on my leg.  
"That stuff doesn't work, anyway," Marvel says. "My brother knew something that worked but I can't remember what it was."  
"Then why tell us?" Clove has been much more irritable since the tracker jacker attack. Upset about being outwitted, I guess.  
"If you don't stop yelling at me I won't share when I find the cure!" Marvel retorts, kicking at a black crate. I roll my eyes, taking the medicine from Clove's hand and dabbing at the sting myself. But as they bicker I notice something's off.  
"If you don't stop—"  
"Guys!" I shout, jumping to my feet. "Look!" I point over the line of trees to a column of smoke. Clove's face lights up and Marvel laughs.  
"Should be easy picking," says Clove, tossing Marvel his spear. "You can talk the lead, Cato, if I get to kill this time."  
"No way! I've barely done anything!" Marvel whines. "I haven't killed anyone yet!"  
Clove frowns, tilts her head from side to side, then nods. "Okay. But if it's Lover Boy, he's my kill."  
The boy from 3 is slumping closer to the ground like he's trying to disappear. This only draws my attention, though, and his face turns white when he sees me looking at him.  
"Get up and grab a weapon," I say, drawing my sword and poking him with it. "You can be the bait."  
"We're not taking _him!"_ cries Clove. "He's useless!"  
"I think Cato's right, he'd work as bait," says Marvel, hauling the boy to his feet. He has a blank, terrified look on his face.  
"He's coming," I tell Clove. "We need him in the woods, and his job's done here anyway. No one can touch those supplies." I pick up a stone and toss it over our supply pyramid. The boy closes his eyes like we're all going to blow up, but the stone clears it entirely.  
"What about Lover Boy?" asks Marvel.  
"I keep telling you, forget about him." I shake my head. "I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us."  
Clove wrinkles her nose in the way she always does when she's not happy. Picking up a spear, she tosses it to me and I thrust it at the District 3 boy. He takes it with shaking fingers.  
"Come on," I say, and we plunge into the forest. I remember Clove and Marvel's dispute and realize I haven't staked my claim. "When we find her, I kill her in my own way and no one interferes."  
The wind ruffles my hair in reply.  
"How many are left?" asks Marvel after a time.  
"Nine," replies Clove easily.  
"There's the four of us, Girl on Fire and Lover Boy, the big dark one, and the other two," I say, counting them off on my fingers. "Wait, no. There's another one. Ten."  
"Who do you think set the fires?"  
"Lover Boy's in no condition," I say. "I haven't seen that guy…isn't he called Thresh?…since the Games started. I hope it's Girl on Fire."  
"Girl on Fire setting fires." Clove snorts. "And I was just thinking she was clever."  
Marvel rolls his eyes. "We're getting down to the real fun," he says. "Better keep our eyes open."  
Clove makes a sound I would describe as a squeal if it were anyone but here. She stops and rocks back and forth on her feet, grinning stupidly.  
"Yesterday we were just children, playing soldiers, just pretending," she sings in an offbeat voice. It's an old child's song that was once her favorite. She skips several lines to the chorus. "Everybody's watching to see the fallout, even when your sleeping, sleeping, keep your eyes open."  
Her voice cracks but she's still smiling, and seeing her happy cheers me up a little, and of course Marvel's always grinning. The boy from 3, though, looks at us like we're all crazy and are about to kill him. Which is probably true.  
"Look, look!" says Marvel, pointing out a glint of light not far ahead. We all quiet in an instant, our movements turning silent and precise.  
When we are close enough to see the weak fire and smoking green wood, all of us know something's wrong. There is no tribute crouched nearby, caught like a rabbit, just a few birds twittering the same four notes. Marvel pushed the boy forward with the butt of his spear, but no one emerges for the kill.  
"Come out, come out wherever you—" Clove starts, but that's when a deafening blast shakes the world rather a lot and we all lose our footing. My sword nearly takes off her head, and the boy's spear lands in the fire, scattering logs.  
Clove, who has fallen to her knees, whips her head up so her hair flies around her face. Her eyes are burning, mouth open in a silent scream for murder.  
"What was—" says Marvel, but Clove interrupts in a frigid voice.  
"No time." She pushes herself to her feet, handing me my sword. Her whole body is tight and tense. "We've got to go back and catch the one who set the trap. They were probably killed in the blast but maybe they had an ally. Let's go."  
Marvel laughs without humor, but Clove gives him such a sharp look that he seems genuinely scared of her. The boy from 3 is still standing up against a tree, his breath coming in shaky gasps, eyes huge. He knows what we're going to find.  
"Come _on,"_ says Clove, pushing me ahead of her. She goes over to Marvel and tugs him forward, then digs her fingers into the arm of the boy. She doesn't say anything, just stares him down in the shadow of a pine tree.  
Just as this is registering in our minds, a colossal explosion sends the world into a shaking, cataclysmic confusion of tumbling rocks, shuddering trees and roaring noises tearing at my ears. Someone thuds to the ground, a shriek, the taste of blood in my mouth and then it's over.  
Our base isn't far, but Clove keeps shrieking at us, "Faster, faster! Or they'll get away!" I'm first out of the woods, onto the hard earth and I'm the first to see it.  
There's nothing to see. Twisted crates, charred rubble. A tangled black sleeping bag, churned earth. I start to laugh, my voice rough and cracked, and it's a laugh as empty and twisted as what remains. I turn my head up, eyes closed, the laugh turning to a scream. Shaking my head, tearing at my hair. Turn over the husks of boxes to find them empty. Throwing scraps of metal so hard my shoulder aches. As I turn in a mad circle, trying to find something, anything, I spot the boy. Still near the trees, still holding the spear, with that look of terror on his face. Like I'm insane and I'm going to kill him.  
"What the hell is this!" I scream. "What the hell did you do!"  
I step toward him, then sprint. He squeaks and drops the spear, backing toward the forest but I grab him. Snap his head to the side.  
_ It's that quick._  
I return to a fractured sense of reality when the body thumps to the ground. Clove steps toward me, a savage look on her face. A cannon sounds.  
"Are you okay?" asks Marvel hesitantly.  
"Damn it Marvel, do you think I'm okay?"  
He bites back a response, turning to sort through the wreck for something of use.  
"Whoever was near that got blown to bits," says Clove, but she doesn't sound satisfied. "They're deader than dead. And we're going to kill their ally, too, real slow and fun." She sounds like she's trying to console herself.  
I shake my head vehemently. "Do you see that, Clove?" I yell, gesturing violently at the smoking heap of nothing. "That means we just lost the Games!"  
"It's not over yet. We've got backpacks and if we get someone soon we'll have their stuff too. We're going to be fine."  
She doesn't believe it, I can tell by her crinkled nose and dull eyes. She knows she'll have to win before the supplies in our packs run out.  
"Marvel," she calls, and the blonde boy looks up. "There's nothing in there. Let's just wait 'til we find out who did this."  
Marvel abandons his search and we sit in a circle by the lake, back-to-back, waiting for the anthem to play. None of us saying a word.  
The sun sets, the anthem plays. There are only two faces; the boy from 3 and the boy from 10. I was right—Katniss Everdeen would not die so simply.  
Clove digs out night vision glasses and hand a pair to each of us. Snatching up a fallen branch, Marvel sets it alit with a match from his pack.  
"We'll find her," Clove says grimly, knuckles white as she clenches the hilt of her favorite knife. "We'll kill her."


	10. Rules

_ Boom._  
A cannon splinters the quiet, and Clove jumps. She's agitated but excited.  
"Marvel got her!" she crows. "Too bad, I really wanted Girl on Fire."  
"I don't know, we should probably keep looking," I say, nudging her arm. "Might not have been her."  
She wrinkles her nose at me. "I hope we catch her. Marvel doesn't have the guts to kill her like he should." Her laugh is nasty. "I keep imagining—"  
"Please stop." She pushes the edge of my sword away from her shoulder. "I don't feel like throwing up here."  
She ducks a branch, whipping it with her ponytail. Giving me a disappointed shake of her head, she says, "Okay, if you can't handle it either, let me kill her. I'll give them a good show."  
"Clove—" I start to say, but she twists around to level me with a glare.  
"She's the _enemy._ The bad guy. She's been out to get us since day one! It's me or her."  
I can hear my father in her voice, from the tracker jacker nightmare; _you'd let them both die?_  
"You always see things in black and white. It doesn't have to be a big epic battle between you and her—a quiet, painful death is something I do best. I already called her."  
"That's not fair!" she whines, even though it's perfectly fair. But her childishness catches me and I can't help it.  
"Alright, fine. Do whatever. Just don't…" I don't know what to say. Don't draw it out? She will. Don't enjoy it? She will. Don't be like me? "Don't die."  
"Yeah, I'm going to let Girl on Fire kill me." She scoffs, punching my arm.  
That's when the second cannon goes off.  
We both raise our heads and scan the area for tributes. We're alone but for the chattering birds and squirrels.  
"You don't reckon someone just…dropped dead or something?" Clove asks, counting something off on her fingers. I'm guessing tributes.  
"No." It could have been the big one, Thresh. "I don't." Or maybe Lover Boy's finally given in.  
"Who was the first cannon, then?"  
Maybe that sneaky redheaded one got Girl on Fire. Or the other way around.  
"I don't know."  
There's someone else I can't remember. Perhaps, whoever it is, starved to death.  
Why don't I want Marvel dead? It'd be much easier if he did just die, because I wouldn't have to worry about killing him. One more person out of the way. I should be glad if he's dead. But I can't feel glad.  
All I know is I can hear Nyx in my head and see her hazel eyes and round face and long brown hair. _Love you,_ I hear her say. _Love you._  
There are lots of people I should want dead.

***

Clove frowns, a crease between her brow. Emblazoned across the sky is the emblem of District 1, followed by the image of a boy with close-cropped blonde hair and a lazy grin.  
"She got Marvel," says Clove, then she mutters to herself as she figures out where we'll do from here.  
After him is the girl from 11, tiny, with dark skin and hair in two thick bunches.  
"She was the one working with Girl on Fire!" Clove exclaims, looking intently at the sky. "Had to be her. Right?"  
"Right," I say quietly, tracing patterns in the ground with my sword.  
"So there are six of us left. You, me, Girl on Fire and Lover Boy, that girl's District partner, and…gah! Someone else, I can't remember."  
"The ginger."  
"Yeah, that one. Only a few, and we're all over the place. They're going to bring us together somehow."  
"How do you think they'll try?"  
"No idea. The fire wall's an old tactic, so maybe they'll try something newer."  
"That's too bad, I'm terribly fond of burning to death," I say, completely deadpan. She snorts. "But as long as we're alive we might as well sleep. I'll take first watch."  
Clove burrows into her jacket and curls up in the nook of a tree, giving me a thankful look. It's been a long day and we haven't had a chance to sleep since Girl on Fire wiped out our food, about two days ago.  
I realize what a terrible decision I've made as our fire burns lower. The only thing besides darkness are my thoughts, which I've been ignoring of late.  
Training, the Games, my life before this, they've all become mixed up since the gong sounded on the first day. Scraps of memories keep coming out of the mess and I can't find the will to push them back anymore.  
Mom grabbing my arm before the Reaping, looking sick, and telling me to be careful. She knew this was my year and she remembered what the Hunger Games is like. The face of the girl I killed that first night. My father, beating me. Beating Clove. The look on his face when she hit him back.  
Losing her. Twice. Once to the vindictive will of our father, again to the Games. I try to remember the times when I thought the world was mine, in training after school, talking with Mom about anything. The time my father was coming at Clove with his sword when they were practicing and I could see what he was going to do and how that butcher knife looked sticking out of his arm.  
And Nyx. I can't make her go away even though thinking of her hurts. Her face, her laugh, her love of poetry, and her death.  
Thinking of her only succeeds in further confusion. I try to erase memory of anything that happened before now but none of it will go away.  
I'm not aware these thoughts have turned to dreams—still slightly affected by tracker jacker venom—until the anthem bursts through, intermingled with trumpets, and I wake with a start, as does Clove. She tightens her fingers around the knife she never lets go of.  
"Attention, tributes, attention." I expect an invitation to a feast to follow his words, but that's not it at all. "The regulations requiring a single victor have been suspended." What? "From now on, two victors may be crowned if both originate from the same District. This will be the only announcement."  
What? I look at Clove, not understanding, but her face is so bright and her smile so big that it finally clicks. Two victors from the same District. Two victors from District 2. Me and Clove.  
Suddenly she's hugging me and laughing. I pat her back, still barely grabbing hold of the concept. I've kind of shoved off the idea of dying and just when I don't have to I realize how much the thought terrified me.  
"Why now, though?" I ask, and Clove snorts.  
"Who cares? We're going to win this thing so hard, it's going to be the best victory anyone's seen!"  
She's probably right. What does it matter if Girl on Fire's going to go looking for Lover Boy? She'll find him near death and nothing will change for them. The only thing changing is that for once I don't have to make a choice between life and death. For once I actually feel like I'm eighteen.  
She hops to her feet, dancing around. "We're gonna win, we're gonna win," she chants in a sing-song voice.  
All those memories lie forgotten now, watching my little sister do a goofy dance on the lakeshore. But when Clove takes first watch and I finally have a chance to sleep, I keep hearing my father's voice in my dreams. _You're as foolish as you are cowardly._

***

I spread myself out on the ground as Clove sits by my head, tearing pieces of grass in half down the middle. A growl rumbles her stomach and she groans.  
"Wish we had eaten those berries," she murmurs, turning her attentions to a pile of dead leaves.  
"They were bright red, would've killed us in a second," I say, though I share her thoughts. We haven't eaten since yesterday, and then only a few strips of jerky. All we have left is a pack of half-crushed crackers.  
"Why don't we have sponsors sending food, huh?" She looks around, hoping for a camera. "Huh?"  
"Maybe our mentor decided to hate us." I close my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "Maybe every in the Capitol's supporting Girl on Fire and Lover Boy."  
She cuts a leaf into eighths with a copper-colored knife.  
"Well, they're just…not smart."  
"Real witty, Clove."  
"Don't mock me, I'm hungry!"  
That's plain to see. The edges of her ribs stick out under her loose-hanging jacket, her cheekbones becoming ever prominent with the passing days.  
"They can't just let us _starve,"_ she continues, digging a pattern into the dirt.  
"Oh? And why can't they?"  
"We're about to win! If we starve that's _pathetic!"_  
I'm about to reply when trumpets blare over the calm forest and a few birds scatter. Clove's eyes grow large as the moon and I prop myself up on one elbow.  
"Attention tributes, attention. Commencing tomorrow at sunrise, there will be a feast at the Cornucopia."  
Clove turns her head to the sky and cheers, pumping her fist. A wave of relief breaks over me.  
"Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something, desperately."  
My stomach growls appropriately and Clove laughs.  
"Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance."  
Clove lets out a long, loud "WOO!" of triumph, the knowledge of help giving her a new strength. A smile pulls up the corners of my mouth.  
"D'you think they'll have something to use against Girl on Fire?" she asks suddenly.  
"Do we desperately need it?"  
"As long as I have my knives, I wouldn't say _desperately,_ but—" She hesitates, unwilling to admit Katniss's good points. "She's clever."  
Weak as we are, the relief at promise of food and blood taps into our Career nature and we discuss tactics for a long while. Clove is almost on her knees begging to go on the offensive, which proves how much she wants it. She's too proud for begging. After an hour or so we've got a definite plan.  
"C'mon, we better get ready," Clove says finally, slinging her pack over her shoulder. "She's _not_ escaping this time!"  
Waiting through the night is hard. We gather what little might give us away at such close proximity to the Cornucopia, tucking our sleeping bags into our packs with three refilled water bottles, one pack of crackers, a coil of rope that was fifteen feet longer when the Games began, and our night vision glasses. Besides Clove's knives and my sword and spear, that's it. All we have. If we don't get that pack at the Cornucopia we're going to die.  
"Don't come in unless I shout for you, okay? I want to kill her my way."  
"What if you can't shout?"  
She glares at me, wrinkling her nose.  
"Promise me!"  
"Okay, I promise." It's the only thing that will make her happy. Why am I letting her get so near death when we're closer to going home every day? Neither of us has to die and neither of us is going to.  
"What if Thresh or someone gets you before I can come, what then?"  
"That's what this one's for." She trails her finger across a long, sharp black blade with loving pride. "Got it off a girl at the Bloodbath. I've been saving it."  
"Okay, fine." I throw my hands up in defeat. "You don't need your big brother anymore. I know when I'm not wanted."  
Her face falls slightly and she closes her jacket, coming over to give me a quick hug.  
"Shut up, you know I'm always going to need you."  
"Just keep your eyes open."  
"Even when you're sleeping, sleeping, keep your eyes open," she murmurs distractedly.


	11. Eyes Open

"Cato!" Clove's voice echoes through the forest, terrified. "CATO!"  
"Clove!"  
The trees flash by, dark blurs at the corners of my vision. I'm intent on the Cornucopia that I can barely see…I can't hear her anymore…Clove…Clove! I stumble against rocks and other things, but it doesn't matter because I've never heard her so scared in my life. I can see my father, sword raises, stepping toward her…  
Strange, how not knowing can be worse. Every thought, every footstep, every moment brings you closer to something you can't change. So what do you do? Stop? Go back? No. You keep going because it's the only thing you can do.  
Katniss Everdeen disappears into the forest and Thresh scoops up the two remaining packs, his and ours, and is gone.  
"CLOVE!"  
But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the girl crumpled in the grass beside the golden horn. She moans, and I stumbled toward her, falling to my knees and throwing my spear aside. I cradle her head.  
"Clove, open your eyes. Look at me, Clove. Don't go, don't leave me! Stay here, stay with me Clove!"  
She moans, shaking her head, causing strands of dark chocolate hair to fall loose from her ponytail.  
"Everything's dark," she whimpers.  
She jerks back then starts trembling as her eyes flutter open and closed, open and closed. I choke on sobs trying to speak.  
"Clove! Open your eyes, look at me!" I pull her into my arms and try to carry her to the lake, try to do something because I can't just let her die, not like this, but she's shaking so hard I can't hold her and I fall to my knees.  
"Please, Clove. Please don't leave. Stay with me."  
But I'm losing her already.  
"…It's so dark." She moans again, falling limp in my arms, nose wrinkled "Win for me…"  
"Clove, you can't leave me! Clove! CLOVE!"  
Her head tilts in against me, the glassy reflection gone from her eyes. Spirit gone. Everything's gone.  
_ It's that quick._  
A tiny patch of daisies flourishes near the mouth of the Cornucopia. As I weave one into her dark hair, I sing shakily, voice choked.  
"Yesterday we were just children, playing soldiers, just pretending. Dreaming dreams with happy endings, in backyards, winning battles with our wooden swords…but now we've stepped into a cruel world… "  
Really, with her eyes closed like that, freckles lying still on her cheeks, she could just be asleep. Maybe if I shake her shoulder she'll open her eyes and bound to her feet. A lone bird trills one high note. The arm of a hovercraft descends into the arena and takes her away, my little sister, my father's daughter, and I couldn't save her.  
I never could. _You'd let them both die?_  
Something breaks. This was always going to happen. No matter what they say in District 2 about returning victorious, we are born to die. I've been the Capitol's plaything all my life. I was an accident, a stupid mistake. But how could my father know that bought-and-paid-for girl was going to have me? I was born into this. I was born to die.  
The spear is in my hand, covered in Clove's blood. I throw it hard as I can into the field, Thresh's territory, and watch it drop out of sight. But I'm so angry and there's nothing I can do. I scream, drawing my sword out in the same moment and driving it into the ground. It sink almost to the hilt and I kneel in front of it, holding it tight, breathing hard.  
I laugh, an empty sound.  
"It's just a game," I say. "You shouldn't cry about it."


	12. Kingdom Come

The rain is icy, cutting across my face and arms relentlessly. There's been nothing but the dark grey sky, the wind and rain, and the endless grass as tall as me, for almost three days now. My stomach is stone hard and empty, body numb, mind closed. Thresh has vanished into another world within the arena, one he understand much better than me.  
A bolt of lighting slashes across the sky and for a moment everything is thrown into harsh relief. Something besides grain moves off to my right.  
"Come out!" I yell in a hoarse voice.  
He does. His dark skin glints with rainwater, his eyes hard. There's a sharp silver sickle at his side, probably from his pack.  
"Did you kill her?"  
His question surprises me enough that I respond. "Who?"  
"Who the hell do you think?"  
I remember the girl's face in the sky, with her curly thick hair and big eyes.  
"No."  
He nods, then snags one pack and then the other and kicks them between us.  
"You come all the way out here for these?"  
"No."  
His look of surprise agitates me. How could he not know? "Why?"  
"Why the hell do you think?"  
I think he gets it now. "The girl with the knives, she was from your District." He pauses as though trying to remember something. "You're Cato?"  
"She was from my District?" I laugh that hollow laugh. "She was my _sister!"_  
The same expression comes over his face that Clove wore when she was weighed our options. He looks down at the packs, up at me.  
"You came for a fight. Okay. We'll settle the score."  
"An epic battle. One for the ages." The edge in my voice is whipped away by the wind.  
Then I slash my sword through the air, but Thresh is standing five feet away now, his sickle out and raised. He bounds toward me and I feel it whistle over my head when I duck. As I straighten up, though, he slams against me, throwing me to the ground.  
He brings the sickle down toward my chest but I raise my sword and they clang together with a loud screech. Before I can stand he miscalculates my movements and the hilt of the weapon slams into my hand. It's hard enough that I hear bones crack but I can't feel it right now. Very luckily it's my right and I fight with my left.  
The air whistles around my sword, aimed at his heart, but he twists to the side and I only cut across his chest. He tries to decapitate me but I'm too fast. Each blow should be a killing one, but we're either too fast or dead lucky.  
The rain distorts my vision, grass softening my fall when he throws his sickle at me. I'm struck by the flat side, but it's enough to knock the air out of me and give him time to retrieve the weapon. The grasses is coarser stuff than I thought, though, and tears strips out of my jacket when I stand, breathless and weak. The adrenaline is going out of me, and I feel my hunger sharp as a dagger, my hand much worse.  
In a moment I'm on my feet but that sickle is all I see. There's only enough time to move so it won't kill me—instead it slashes across my arm. I feel pain this time, rushing rain-soaked pain.  
It wakes me up, though. Throws open the door for all the other pain to come into my head. The moment that happens, Thresh doesn't stand a chance.  
Time slows. I think he sees the change in me, the cold determination changing to hatred and anger. Everything dims but the ground beneath my feet, the sword in my hand, Thresh, and my pain.  
I don't know if he tries fighting back. Maybe he doesn't. But I think he does. The moment is crystal-cut by the rain, my sword striking forward, his fist against my cheek, thud of his body, cannon.  
I open the pack marked with 2 first. Tucked neatly inside are packets of food—dried fruit, jerky, crackers, apples, cheese, and rolls. Even two bars of chocolate. I cram two rolls and a strip of jerky into my mouth but it doesn't sit easy in my stomach.  
Thresh's bag is more interesting. A blanket, several full water bottles, and most helpful, a mesh of skintight armor my sword can't pierce. Perfect. I imagine Clove rifling through the packs with a huge grin, trying to sneak both bars of chocolate.  
_ "See, Cato, if you play it right you're gonna win,"_ she would say.  
I can also imagine Nyx, her back turned away as the hovercraft carries off Thresh's body. I can imagine her scared of me.  
"It's just a game, Cato," I say, slinging the packs over my shoulders.


	13. Just a Game

_"And I think the word he's trying to say is please."_ -The Hunger Games, _page 134_

A bird sings overhead, four notes I think I've heard before. Another repeats the tune, and another, turning the simple notes into a bright melody. In the branches near me I see one of the birds spread its black wings, streaked with white, and I recognize it. A mockingjay. There are several of them flitting through the trees above me. Have they been in the arena all this time and I never noticed? It's funny they'd be here when they're a prick in the Capitol's side.  
One of the mockingjays takes flight, circling once around my head and brushing my cheek with the tip of its wing. Their song grows louder but then starts to break off, jagged notes hanging in the air. One screeches and I'm just turning around to see why.  
Wolves, larger than any I've ever seen, bound out of the shadows right at me. A scream rises in my throat but doesn't come out because my body is pushing all its energy to running, faster even than when the fire wall bore down on us almost a week ago.  
Has it only been a week?  
Trees and leaves and branches whip past me, scraping shallow, stinging cuts into my face, bouncing off my armor. One of the smallest muttations—they have to be muttations—bounds ahead the others and flings itself at me, curly red-brown fur glinting in the sun. It crashes into me and I collide with a tree. I can't stop! It's clawing at me, snarling and growling. Its claws don't break my armor, but it reaches with its right paw and slashes my face.  
I shout, then drive my knee into its stomach. It lets loose a pitiful howl as it pulls away and glares at me with startling ocean-blue eyes. Three burning lines are pouring blood down my face, but I push off the tree and run like hell.  
I can barely breathe, but adrenaline and terror propel me through the forest. I don't have the faintest idea where I'm going—my only thought is away—until I barrel through the line of trees and into the clearing where the Cornucopia lies.  
Maybe I sprint past Girl on Fire and Lover Boy, but I'm not sure and I don't care. The gold metal burns my skin and it's almost impossible to pull myself up with only one hand, but I manage it.  
Even with my armor, shirt, and jacket between, the metal sears my skin and after a moment I force myself to my knees with my good hand, the other useless from Thresh's sickle. Katniss is just yanking Peeta over the top of the Cornucopia, the lower half of his left pant leg torn to shreds and soaked red.  
"Can they climb?" I try to ask, but the lack of air in my body strangles the words.  
"What?" shouts Katniss.  
I wave her away and look down the tail of the horn, where the mutts are circling, testing the metal with their paws before drawing back and separating down the middle so that one wolf with glossy blonde fur can take a running leap at us. It lands close, but scrabbles at the Cornucopia and slowly falls, making a screeching noise all the way down. They split off into two groups, standing on their hind legs and trying to jump high enough to grab one of us. The way the move is disturbingly human.  
"Kill it, Peeta! Kill it!"  
Katniss's shouts draw my attention to the side of the horn where she's clutching Peeta's arm so hard her knuckles are white, and it's a perfect time to shove them both over. I rise to my feet and try to move toward them while I catch my breath, but then she's got him back above the edge. She must remember I'm here, because she arms her bow and lets loose an arrow, but it soars past me and catches a big dark mutt in the neck. It yelps as it falls.  
As she appears to relax slightly I grab Lover Boy by the back of his shirt with my left hand, wrapping my right arm around his neck to cut his air. He claws at my arm and Katniss Everdeen turns to face me, readying another arrow.  
"Go on, shoot," I say, my voice dead. "Then we both go down and you win." She lowers the bow but I shake my head. "Go on, I'm dead anyway." I laugh, just as empty. "Always was, right? Didn't know that 'til now. How's that, that what they want? Huh?!" I turn my head and shout at the arena, shaking Peeta, and she tightens the bowstring again. It only makes me laugh harder. "Huh…I can still do this. I can still do this. One more kill." I shift my hold on Peeta so I can snap his neck in a moment. "This is the only thing I know how to do." I taste blood in my mouth as I stare down at her. "Bring pride to my District…not that it matters."  
In that moment I remember very clearly Nyx's dull, dead eyes and the wilted daisy in Clove's hair. My mom's green eyes. Home. And then Peeta makes an odd gesture and I figure it out just as Katniss releases the bowstring. Her aim is perfect. The arrow is in my broken hand and I scream, let go of Peeta, who shoves me hard, and then I fall.  
I land hard on my back and but I can't shout because I can't breath. The mutt nearest me, with curly strawberry fur, howls and leaps onto my chest. I raise my arm in front of my face and its teeth clamp around it. This armor is amazing.  
Time doesn't exist when I battle the muttations. They're everywhere, dozens of them, these humanlike wolf creatures. I slash, cut, hack, everything I was taught and I'm barely holding my own. Every time I near the tail of the horn another appears. My face and hands are bloody, sword a blur of silver and red.  
Flash, flash, flash. Two fall in a flash of metal, another smashes into the wall of the Cornucopia as I crush its head with the hilt of my blade. The screech of metal-on-metal sounds in my ears, all of my sense sending crowded messages to my brain. Swing, duck, claws on skin, blood-soaked fur, slash, step back, metal on claw.  
One mutt, its burnished gold fur mottled with blood and dirt, stalks forward, limping badly. I'm pressed against the wall of the Cornucopia, sword pointing out, and its eyes are so human that I can't help noticing the color, jade tinged blue. I've seen those eyes before.  
"Marvel!" It comes out strangled by horror and my own exhaustion.  
I'm so shocked that he charges forward and slams me against the golden horn without retaliation. But as soon as the next one jumps at me it jumps directly onto my sword. It's the one who first attacked me, it's Owen Telle. It's every single one of them, there's Glimmer's body and the girl, the girl we first attacked, she hits me from the side and I fall over. My sword flies from my hand, too far to grab.  
_ I'm going to die._  
I can't fight them anymore. Losing my sword knocks the will out of me. The drag me with teeth and claw deeper into the gold horn. A muttation presses her nose to my forehead. She has hazel eyes, eyes I can recognize even now. Behind her is a darker mutt whose tongue hangs out of her mouth in a smile.  
There has never been anything in all the world as terrible as that night. There is no stop, no conceivable end to their torture. There's just darkness and blood and pain…I'm going insane…I'm going insane. They tear away every part of me, only to find there was nothing to begin with.  
Years pass before the sun rises. A girl, burning with the fire of the sunrise, looks down over the edge of the Cornucopia and finds me, broken and bare.  
"Please," I whisper, hardly able to form the word.  
Her arrow, silver glinting gold in the morning light, soars through the air as a mockingjay sings.  
It finds me, frees me. Finally I'm safe.

_Just close your eyes, the sun is going down_  
_You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now_  
_Come morning light, you and I'll be _  
_Safe and sound_

-Safe & Sound, Taylor Swift ft. the Civil Wars


End file.
